Like this:

One of my favorite things about the parish I attend is their choir. They sing both enthusiastically and well (two things that do not always go together). Plus, they sing really good music, throwing in pieces from The Messiah, or a little something by Bach, you know, just for kicks and giggles. I inquired about joining the choir back when I first started going to St. Anthony’s, but gave it up when I found out they rehearsed on Wednesday nights. At the time Wednesday nights were sacred to swing dancing, and doing anything else was unthinkable. But things change. The unthinkable happened, and I found myself staying home on Wednesday nights more than I went dancing. Still for a long time I wasn’t willing to completely give up the idea of going dancing, which would be implied if I actually signed up for another commitment on the same night.

Then last October I suddenly found myself in a hospital bed getting a blood transfusion and contemplating what was to be the first of two surgeries. I decided then that when (not if) I got better, I was going to join the choir. It took me a little longer to get there than I had hoped, but one Sunday in August after 10am Mass, I made my way up the windy stairs to the choir loft, and informed the choir director that I wanted to be one of them. She told me that was lovely, rehearsals started the first Wednesday after Labor Day, and she would see me then. She did see me then, and every Wednesday since.

I’ve been singing with the choir for three Sundays now, and I absolutely love it. Everyone else has been in the choir for approximately forever. The lady I sat next to my first day told me she had been in the choir for 34 years, and had been in the youth choir before that. She moved to another city about half an hour away, but she’s still in choir. Because everyone has been there for so long, the issue of where you sit and what hymnal you use is a Very Big Deal. Right now I am allowed to sit in the front row because the lady who usually occupies that seat is out sick for a while. She’s expected back any Sunday now, and then I will have to move to a seat in the 2nd row, which is open because its previous occupant is now dead (this or extreme ill health seem to be the only way that anyone ever leaves the choir). The hymnal I use has the initials MAI on it. I was given to understand that it was ok for me to use that book on a regular basis, since MAI has retired from the choir. However, if she ever comes back to sing with the choir for a special occasion, it’s her hymnal, and she gets it back. I find all of this rather hilarious, and I kinda hope she does come back, just so I can meet the woman who really owns my hymnal. I wonder where she sits?

Since the choir has been singing together for so long, they have a huge repertoire of songs under their belt. So rehearsal for them is usually not so much about learning the songs as refreshing everyone’s memory. At our first rehearsal, they passed out a piece by Bach. We breezed through it a couple of times, the choir director corrected a couple of little things, and then announced that we would be performing that one on Sunday. We did, handed the sheet music back in, and haven’t seen it since. There are a few things we see more than once, usually the pieces by modern composers who are overly enamored of throwing extra sharps in every once in a while just to make sure the choir is still awake (we give their names on the cover narrow-eyed looks, like a sort of choir loft voodoo). All this means is that I’m sight-reading about 90% of the time, especially on the basic hymns, which we usually don’t rehearse at all. After all, we’ve all sung them 1000 times, right? Except this is the choir version, which has parts you’ve never seen before, and you’re expected to sing that, not the melody you could sing in your sleep. This is when belonging to a family who thinks Happy Birthday should be sung in 10 or 11 part harmony comes in really, really handy. So I do apologize for butchering the alto part the first time through I Am The Bread Of Life last Sunday – it took me a run through or two to get it down.

So, you know, I’m having the time of my life. And it’s going to get better. Last week I got an email from the choir director asking me if I might perhaps have any interest in cantoring. And, well, yeah! The schedule is already set between now and December, so it won’t be for a while. But when it comes, it will be awesome.

Every day at precisely noon, my phone begins to vibrate, play Comfort Ye My People from the Messiah, and display across the screen, in large, friendly letters, “Sext.” If I could remember what model of phone I have long enough to google how to take a screen shot, I would totally show you. Anyway, this is not my noon reminder to send smutty messages to… someone. It is my regular reminder that it is time for the Midday Prayer part of the Liturgy of the Hours. If I am at work, it also means I can go shut the door and not have to talk to anyone for an hour.

The reason why Midday Prayer is called Sext is because back in the day when they were naming things, the noon prayers were at the Sixth Hour, and Sext is Latin for Sixth. I’m the obstinate type who figures that just because some upstarts invented another word that happens to sound and be spelled just like the word we’ve been using for a couple of millenia, but happens to mean something very different, is no reason why I should change the words I use. Plus, it amuses me greatly. I have no idea what my coworkers who happen to be near me at noon think, but that makes me giggle too. So I’m keeping it.

My alarm that lets me know that it’s time to take my painkillers is also from the Messiah: Behold, I Tell You A Mystery. The text is 1 Corinthians 15:51-52: “Behold, I tell you a mystery: We shall not all sleep; but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in a twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.” Because if that doesn’t describe what painkillers do, I don’t know what does. I’m thinking about changing it to Balm In Gilead, except an alarm needs to be loud, startling, or annoying enough to make you take action, and I think that’s maybe too soothing. We’ll see.

Part of the problem of being off work is that I have the illusion of endless time to spare, and since I’m on painkillers, no sense of my own limitations. For example, Sae has been trying to find a dress for Sweet Pea to wear for her flower girl gig at AnniePott’s upcoming wedding. It doesn’t have to be a super fancy dress, but it does have to conform to Indy’s carefully curated palette of greens. Last Saturday Sae brought her latest attempt to Indy for approval, but alas, it was more turquoise than emerald, and did not pass muster.

Sae was sounding a bit discouraged, and suddenly I found myself volunteering that if Sae would buy a couple of yards of eyelet cloth, I’d be happy to dye it the right shade with Rit Dye, and then sew the dress myself. This seemed like an entirely reasonable proposition to me. After all, kids that size are basically cylinders, so a pretty party dress would be basically four rectangles sewn together, and two of those would be straps. Plus I could put a little pocket on the front, and it would be ridiculously cute. I thought a lot about that pocket.

Then I thought that it would also be a really great idea to get a couple more yards of cloth and sew a matching dress out of it for The Little Philosopher too. This also seemed entirely reasonable. I even talked about it with The Duchess. I decided that the pockets should be little gathered pockets like this, all edged with tiny white lace. I never once thought about the five other projects I also need to get done before the wedding, which is in three weeks.

However, God loves me. Sae found a dress that will probably work, and it looks like that particular domino chain of crazy is not going to tumble down after all.

Yesterday my niece the Little Philosopher came over to be babysat by people who are not me. She is beginning to get in touch with her inner chatterbox, and we had a very good time with each other. I was getting more and more tired, so after a while I was mostly lying on the couch while she climbed over me like a jungle gym (miraculously not kneeing me in my incision, though it came close a couple times!). She eventually perched herself on the arm of the couch, right behind my shoulder, and I introduced her to Pinterest. These were her two favorite Pins:

I have been having such a good time at work the last few days. You see, last week I was clearing out one of our older storage rooms at work. This is the one with the boxes of files going back years and years, plus the mountains of some of the most random stuff you ever saw. Boxes of tumblers with the hospital logo from about three takeovers back. Dusty Christmas decorations shedding glitter over everything. Racetrack flags from when (so I’m told) they used to have go-kart races in the cafeteria as a way of boosting employee morale. Three electronic massage mats that, when draped over a chair, transform it into a massage chair. A box of invitations and envelopes for the 2007 employee recognition banquet. It’s fabulous, like an archaeological dig for contemporary corporate culture. The pack rat, amateur sociologist in me is just thrilled. No, really. I’m sincere about that. Not a scrap of sarcasm.

One of the better finds was an entire box full of silver coins imprinted with things like “Great Job!” on one side and “Thanks for going above and beyond!” on the other. Another one has a ladybug with “Lucky us!” on one side, and “You’ve been ‘spotted’ doing a great job!” on the other. At first I took only a handful downstairs to show my boss, more for the WTF factor than anything else. She said she had never seen them before, and had no idea when we’d acquired them, or what they were doing in our storage room. Since she had no use for them, I asked her if she minded if I played around with them. She said to go on ahead.

Since then, I’ve been keeping a few in my pocket, and when I’m out doing things in the hospital, I give them to the employees I run into. “Name, “ I say, handing them the coin, “You’re doing a great job.” And, wow, people seem to really, really like it. A lot of them laugh, but most of them seem genuinely touched. One guy almost seemed like he was about to cry. That’s not what I’m going for at all, of course (contrary to occasional appearances, it is not the mission of HR to make employees cry), so for the most part I try to strike a lighthearted (cuz seriously, it’s a slightly cheesy fake plastic coin) but sincere note (since I wouldn’t be giving it to them if I didn’t genuinely believe that they are doing a great job, and most of them will never get the recognition they deserve). But I’ve seen some of the people tucking it into their badge holder to keep, or saying that they want to keep it in their pocket as a reminder. It’s a win-win: they get encouraged, and I walk away feeling like the good-feelings superhero.

I think there is nothing I love so much in the world as a little benevolent mischief. I mean, plotting and scheming to embarrass someone or cause them pain is just mean, and no good at all. But if it’s for something they’ll like? Something that will surprise and possibly delight them? Then all bets are off. It’s like doing good with a delicious side of tasty, tasty adventure. Having these coins to pass out feels like going around all day with a pocket full of sneaky fun surprises, just waiting for the opportunity to pounce on someone and make them happy. It makes me want to giggle all the time, except pretty soon the giggle starts morphing into a mad genius/super-villain laugh, and then it gets a little disturbing. But still. So much fun.

Did I ever tell you about the time when I was talking to AP, and I stopped in the middle of a sentence to say, “Oh, look! a squirrel!” and then just went right back on with what I had been saying? Yeah, that actually happened. In my defense, it was an albino squirrel, and those are pretty special. Though to be totally honest, I should also tell you that this particular albino squirrel has been living in my neighborhood for a while, so I’d seen it several times before. But still, I think I’m now morally obligated to buy this shirt.

Also fun is Drover making faces at me when he goes by in the hall. Drover is a police officer at one of the hospitals I take care of (I’m part of an HR team that covers two small regional hospitals). He’s an amiable kind of guy, the sort of All-American boy who grew up big and strong, played basketball and football through high school, got along well with everybody, and mostly looked blankly at his teachers when they started talking about things like literature and art. For a long time I had him pegged as a sweet guy, likeable but not super bright, and about as deep as a toddler’s wading pool.

Then one morning, as he was walking by my office he stopped in the doorway, brought his hands up like claws, bared his teeth like fangs, and hissed at me. No, really. Sortof like this:

Except even more unexpected, but less scary.

I didn’t even know what to do. I know I laughed, because 1 – it was really funny, and 2 – that’s pretty much my default reaction to almost anything unexpected. I thought I’d imagined it until the next time he walked by. This time he stopped in the doorway, gave me this huge exaggerated wink, and the ol’ finger gun. pointing at you thing, like this, but bigger and way winkier:

It’s you, man.

Also cheesier, kinda like this:

Wink

Ok, maybe add some of this in too:

Now that’s a wink.

Though to be honest, that was just because laughing, winking Thor is too cute to resist.

Much too subtle, but how can I not post Benedict Cumberbatch winking?

Anyway, I was just dumbfounded. It just… the world did not make sense. For a split second I considered the possibility that Drover was hitting on me, but he just got married a couple of months ago, and also no. Then I thought maybe the guys were messing with me. I even called Atlas (the dispatcher for both hospitals) and asked him if he was messing with me via Drover. He was convincingly confused, and I had to give up that possibility too.

For most of the morning I thought maybe Drover was on crack, and then I figured it out. You see, the route I take to go to the cafeteria for meals goes right past the police office. I feel rude going past without waving, but usually when I’m coming back my hands are full with my breakfast or lunch. So I would stop by the window, and make a fish face. Apparently, Drover decided to start returning the favor. And just like that, I realized Drover was awesome.

Now it’s kind of our thing. I stop and make faces when I go by his door, he makes faces when he goes by my door. The initial full-out vampire hiss with claws has gotten abbreviated to more of a face grimace showing teeth with hissing sounds if there isn’t anyone else in the hallway. I’ve promised to buy him his very own set of vampire fangs for Halloween. It’s pretty cool.

Sarah Whittle, coral stitch: You can use different thread thicknesses or change the angle of the knot to give different effects. Coral stitch can be used on straight or curved lines as well as being used as a textured filling stitch. When using as a filling stitch place the knots into spaces between the knots of the previous row .